


I Won't Leave but I Can't Stay

by Spongeekat



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Peter Parker, Omegaverse, POV Alternating, PWP, Peter is 21, Tony helps Peter get off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2020-02-10 21:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18668803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spongeekat/pseuds/Spongeekat
Summary: Tony hasn't seen Peter in years, and invites him over for dinner while he's in New York for the weekend. When he arrives at his penthouse, he finds Peter- which he'd previously known as a beta- in heat, in his bed, and very much wanting his attention.Tony can't give him what he wants, no matter how badly he'd like to.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An AU story, in which Infinity war and Endgame never happened. 
> 
> I recently got addicted to Starker and totally feel like I'm going to hell, so I decided to indulge and write a one-shot in which Tony's finally comes to terms with his attraction to Peter. I'm super nervous to post this due to the fact that I normally write Spideypool and this is my first time making content for TonyPeter, but I do have a slowburn planned for them whenever I get the energy to write it! 
> 
> May possibly extend on this at a later time!

__ Tony __

  
Tony wasn’t ever supposed to want this. 

 

“Mr. Stark... P-Please help, it  _ hurts. _ ” 

 

Tony sucked in a calculated breath through his mouth, the act of self-control more painful than the nails digging grooves into the pads of his fingers. Blown eyes darted across the young man splayed out in front of him like a goddamn  _ painting _ ; across the splotches of flustered lust patterning his chest; across the swollen lips that were parting with each breath, begging to be bitten, begging to be made his; across the sweat pooling around his forehead, making the boy utterly glitter in the dim lighting of the bedroom. 

 

Tony’s bedroom, more specifically. 

 

Tony hadn’t asked to be put in this situation. He knew he was going to hell for a dozen different reasons by now, but he, under no circumstances, would have ever chosen to add acting on his attraction to Peter Parker to the list. His Spider-ling. His mentee. The kid he’d reeled into the superhero life half a decade ago, who certainly wasn’t a kid any longer. No, Peter had the body of a grown man. His skin was pulled taut over perfectly crafted muscles that rippled when he squirmed. Maybe it was the heat causing his unrest. Maybe it was Tony’s scrutinizing gaze. Either way, Peter couldn’t sit still, and Tony wanted to give him a dozen reasons to move like that all night...

 

“...can’t do this.” Tony was reasoning with himself, but the words still served to make Peter whimper in response. He could feel his disappointment in his scent alone and- God, was that vanilla? He smelled like an ice-cream cake. Sweet. Just like him. The sweat dripping down Peter’s neck was probably sweet, too. Tony wanted a taste. 

 

\--

 

Why had Peter come to his bedroom? Tony hadn’t seen him in years, since he’d run away to Miami to escape the baggage of his divorce from Pepper in 2019. Now it was 2022, Tony was back to deal with a few legal issues within the company, and he’d sent Peter a text a week ago to ask if he’d like to join him for a lunch and to develop upgrades to his suit. The kid had replied enthusiastically, multiple times, despite Tony’s radio silence. The day came, he’d sent Peter a time with the door code to his penthouse, and in true Stark-style, had arrived an hour later than promised. 

 

Upon entering the living room, Peter had been nowhere to be found. Tony thought maybe he’d given up, became disenchanted with the ghost of the mentor he once had, and gone back to wherever the hell he called home now. But it took just a moment for the scent to reach his nose; an omega, somewhere in his penthouse, and very much in heat. Somehow, the genius couldn’t put two-and-two together - to figure out that perhaps Peter had presented late while Tony was off in Florida drowning his guilt in booze and meaningless sex, that a calculation had been off and Peter had unexpectedly fallen into  _ that time _ with no safe way to get home - and Tony went searching for whoever had taken up residence in his home. 

 

Only in his wildest, most deplorable dreams, would Tony ever expect to find Peter rutting into his mattress, shirt abandoned sloppily on the floor beside his shoes, face pressed into Tony’s pillow searching for something to help him find relief from his condition. 

 

And then Peter had looked up at him through those fucking eyelashes, heavy with tears and batting over his doe eyes- the most youthful part of his appearance- and begged for Tony to fuck the heat right out of him. 

 

Maybe that was more-so Tony’s own desires, but that didn’t change the fact Peter was pleading for the alpha’s help. However, Tony had promised himself, just before he packed up and shipped himself off to the Southern coast 3 years ago, that he would never let himself want Peter as much as his drunken, divorced mind tried to convince him he did. 

 

\--

 

__ Peter __

 

“Mr. Stark.” Peter tried again, his voice worn. He wasn’t sure how long he had been alone, but he knew he had made himself cum twice, and his boxers felt sticky and wet against his overheated skin. 

 

_ There was an alpha in the room- the alpha who had been his object of affection since he was a young teenager- and he was standing there, watching him. Unmoving. Why wouldn’t he help him? _

 

The notion was ridiculous. He knew, even through the plaguing desperation, that he wasn’t what Mr. Stark wanted. He’d been acutely aware of every touch, every brush of his shoulder, or every time he made the older man crack a smile. Yet, to Mr. Stark, they were passing gestures; interactions he never gave a second thought. He would never be Mr. Stark’s craving, even when he was at his most vulnerable. 

 

“Kid.” Mr. Stark cleared his throat, seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment, before speaking again. “I said I  _ can’t. _ ” 

 

Right. He had no right to be here, making demands for his attention, because he’d decided to risk everything for the chance to see Mr. Stark again. 

 

Another shudder worked its way down Peter’s spine, and he pressed his palm to the damp spot on the front of his jeans. 

 

“How long have you been here, Peter?” Mr. Stark referring to Peter by his actual name worked another whimper from his mouth, which seemed to make Mr. Stark jump. “Like...this?” 

 

“I-I don’t know. I came here, t-to your scent, and I don’t know.”

 

“Fucking hell.” A tense beat, in which Mr. Stark went silent and Peter’s thick breathing was the only noise in the room. “You know I didn’t invite you over here for this, right? I need you to know that I had no intention-” 

 

Peter felt a tug of loneliness in the core of his stomach, a reminder of the unfulfilled hollowness inside of him. He writhed, curling in on himself, as his toes caught in the blanket. He could feel Mr. Stark step closer, just once. His scent was delicious. It was what Peter had spent nights dreaming about. He wanted to press his face closer. He wanted it to envelop him, while Mr. Stark pushed the pain away and whispered sweet words to him. 

 

But he didn’t step any closer. 

 

“ _ Please. _ ” 

 

“You can stay here, until it passes.” Mr. Stark was having another conversation Peter was very much not a part of, his tone formal and professional, though his voice sounded split open. “In my bed that’s...that’s fine, if it helps. I can ask Happy to drive you home. Hell, I’ll order a limo to drive you home, or five, if that’s what you want.” 

 

Peter was breathing too heavily to process what was being said. All he could hear was that Mr. Stark was trying to avoid the situation by any cost. Avoid him at any cost. 

 

“I’ll come back to check on you.” Mr. Stark continued. “Once you’ve hit a reprieve, I’ll-” 

 

“Don’t go.” Peter’s mind was exhausted, yet his body is still insistently feverish. It needed more than he could give it. Two orgasms was nothing if it was by his own hands. “Don’t leave me alone.” 

  
  


__ Tony __

 

_ “Don’t leave me alone.”  _

 

Tony wasn’t just going to hell. He was going to rot in Tartarus alongside murderers and tyrants for eternity. 

 

His feet shuffled closer to the bed, entranced by the beauty draped atop it. There was no use communicating with this Peter, this angel omega. He was too far engrossed in hormones. If he had really been in the first wave of his heat for nearly an hour, it was a miracle he had been able to speak a single word- even if those words had been taunting pleads for relief. 

 

“Pete.” Tony’s knee pressed into the mattress, as it gave way to his weight. Closer now, he could see all of Peter’s exposed beauty. His gaze dropped to his collarbones, poking out elegantly from his upper chest. Tony wanted to mouth them, to litter his milky white skin with bruises. He knew Peter would heal from them in a day, but he hoped he could find a way to make them stay longer. 

 

Peter let out a quiet moan, maybe in reaction to hearing his name, as his face pinched in pain. 

 

“Pete, I can’t give you what you want.” Tony inhaled sharply through his nose, which proved to be a mistake, as the sweet aroma drowning his room made his head swim with the need to  _ take. _

 

Peter’s eyes shot open, panic cutting over his expression. His hand reached out, shaky fingers trying to grip Tony, his lips parting, probably to insist he couldn’t leave him by himself. 

 

“Ssh, kid, I’m not leaving.” As if to prove it, Tony crawled across the bed. The closer he got, the more he felt his resolve hardening. Peter’s face was older, his jaw was more angular and any baby fat had been long displaced from his cheeks, but he still looked just as innocent as the day Tony had left when he’d turned 18. Tony wouldn’t sully that. He wouldn’t take anything from Peter when he couldn’t properly consent. “But I...shit… I can’t touch you.” 

 

Tony was finally close to Peter, finally within arm’s reach, but he made no move to grab him. Instead, he focused on the jeans gripping tight to his thighs, and- fuck- hugging his ass in marvelous ways. But they looked uncomfortable as hell, matted with slick in the rear. He knew from experience jeans over sweat was awful, and Peter’s hypersensitive skin likely made it worse. 

 

“Can I get you out of your pants?” Tony managed, refusing to make a move unless he received explicit consent to do so. He watched Peter’s face, watched his features melt into the question, as if he’d been waiting for it all day. 

 

“Yes, God,  _ yes.”  _

 

Tony wouldn’t touch him. He wouldn’t give him any reason to wake up the next morning feeling disgusted with his mentor, but he would do what he was designed to do; take care of him to the best of his abilities. 

 

“I’m just going to get you out of them, so you can work your way through this before it gets worse.” Things were already at their worst. Tony wasn’t sure he could ever come back from the revelations he’d made today. “Nothing more.” 

 

Peter made a noise of understanding- or possibly disappointment, a thought that made his heart pound mercilessly into his ribcage. 

 

Somehow, Tony found the strength in himself to reach for the button on his jeans. It was easy enough to undo, the material of his pants feeling thin and worn. He made a mental note to buy an American Eagle location in the morning, so Peter could have as many pairs of jeans as he wants whenever he wants. In that moment, however, he was grateful for the kid’s habit of wearing clothes long past their throw-away date. It kept the amount of time his fingers were hovering near his erection much shorter. 

 

He was met with an entirely new scent when he tugged his waistband down and over his hips. With careful coaxing, Peter managed to lift his ass from the mattress, long enough for Tony to pull the denim over the curve of it with careful precision. He let him keep his boxers on, figuring they didn’t provide as much of a barrier for Peter’s pleasure as they did for Tony’s own sanity. Tony finally worked the pants down his calves and off his legs completely, before tossing them uselessly off the bed. He’d give him something else to wear later, and burn the soiled fabric scraps before Peter could try to wear them out again. 

 

“Okay.” Tony panted, out of breath despite the minimal effort it took to get Peter undressed. “Okay, let’s get you comfortable.” 

 

Tony wasn’t prepared with much of a plan. He’d thought as far ahead to know he wanted to get Peter to reprieve without traumatizing him, and here he was, with Peter nearly-naked, and looking at him as if he was the answer to the world’s problems. But he was still obviously needing a full release only an alpha could give him, and he refused to be that alpha simply because Peter had been unfortunate enough to go into heat in his penthouse. 

 

“I’m” Tony braced himself, putting all remaining strength into keeping his voice as confident and comforting as he intended. “Going to move you.” 

 

His hands finally touched skin, and he instantly registered the warmth. Peter was like a furnace; compact and radiating hotness. Even as dead weight, Tony noticed how easy it was to drag him, and he does; he rested himself on his back, propped against the pillows, and pulled Peter’s rigid limbs to rest on top of him, the boy’s nose buried in his neck and their chests plastered together. So close to him, he could feel each breath the boy took, his quick gasps for air puffing against his skin. Tony had considered taking off his shirt, knowing skin-to-skin contact might have alleviated some of Peter’s touch-starvation, but he was relieved now that he hadn’t. Being this close to him, Peter’s scent was more intoxicating than any alcohol or drug Tony had pumped into his system, and adding any more sensations to the mix would drive Tony overboard. He would never forgive himself if he crossed that bridge. 

 

“You’re doing great.” Tony spoke as if they were executing a plan they were both in on, when he was simply doing his best to make the right decisions. “Are you comfortable, Peter?” 

 

The kid made an unholy noise that went straight to Tony’s groin. He gave a pitiful nod, deliberate, yet meager in strength. If Peter was this weak already, after a mere hour of being in heat following two orgasms, it was a wonder to Tony he didn’t have an alpha to help him through. Or maybe he did, and one was waiting for Peter on his bed, decorating the room with candles and laying out clean towels to keep him clean and taken care of. The thought made Tony’s blood run cold; he’d rent out every room in The Ritz-Carlton if it were him, so Peter could have a different bed every night. Every wave, if he wanted. He’d have room service on standby, a bath drawn every hour so the water was always ready for the omega to soak in. He’d buy him anything he asked. He’d give him everything before he could even think to ask for it. 

 

But Tony wasn't his alpha. So he put the unhinged jealousy to rest and focused on the task at hand. 

  
  


__ Peter __ 

 

Mr. Stark’s erection settled snug up against Peter’s abdomen. The knowledge that his heat had made the man horny- that  _ he _ had made him horny- didn’t go unperceived. 

 

_ Mr. Stark was hard. Why wouldn’t he just make him feel better with his knot? _

 

“Pete.” Mr. Stark’s voice was back, commanding, and it drug Peter from his drunken haze. “Hey, are you listening?” 

 

“‘m gonna go crazy.” Peter breathed, his voice a tattered memory of what it once was. “I-I can’t wait anymore, sir.” 

 

Mr. Stark jolted underneath him, and Peter became acutely aware of a slight pressure underneath his aching cock. He rolled his hips up against the firm foundation he was propped on, shuddering as the friction made sparks course through his abdomen. Mr. Stark made a noise like he’d been shot. 

 

“Fuck, okay, that’s-...that’s one way to do it.” Mr. Stark’s voice was rough. His scent had been intense from the moment he’d entered the room. Now, with his scent glands exposed to Peter’s nose, so close he could lick the expanse of stubbled skin if he desired, it was dizzying. He smelled like dominance. 

 

“I need t-to cum.” Peter whispered, rutting his barely clothed groin up against Mr. Stark’s side again. Then again. It felt better than the mattress, maybe because of the lack of clothing acting as a barrier, or maybe because he knew he was reaping pleasure from Mr. Stark’s body. Either way, the alpha wasn’t pushing him away, and Peter couldn’t stop his body from seeking out the release. “G-God, sir, I need-” 

 

“That’s it, sweetheart.” 

 

_ Sweetheart. _ The pet name drew all the air from Peter’s lungs, only for it to be replaced by the headiness of Mr. Stark’s pheromones. He whimpered with each desperate thrust, though he could feel it more than hear it. The only sound that he was able to truly hear was Mr. Stark’s hitched breathing. “N- Mr-  _ Ah.” _

 

“I can’t touch you.” Tony repeated, but it sounded like he was speaking more to himself than intending for Peter to hear it. It was far off. Impersonal. A law he kept reciting. “But I’ll take care of you. Shit, Pete, let me take care of you.” 

 

“ _ P-Please,  _ I-” Peter’s abdomen tightened. His lungs felt like they were on fire, his shallow breaths working them hard. Even if he wasn’t being knotted, even if he was rutting himself to orgasm like a hormonal teen, it felt different, knowing it was against Mr. Stark. Better. Heavenly. “I don’t, I-I can’t-” 

 

Fingers pressed into his hips. They wrapped firmly on either side of his boxer waistband, never touching skin, but ever present. Peter tangled his fingers in the front of Mr. Stark’s shirt, needing a purchase to exert energy into. Tony guided his hips coaxingly, keeping him in sloppy rhythm, leading him towards a finish he’d been fighting to reach for what felt like an entire day. 

 

“I...Mr.  _ Stark. _ ”

 

“You’re perfect.” Mr. Stark managed. 

 

“I-I’m sorry, sir, I-I can’t-” Peter’s thighs quivered. His chest ached from the merciless pounding of his heart. His fingers were shaking, yet they tightened their hold in his band tee. 

 

“Then don’t.” 

 

“Oh...Oh  _ fuck.” _

 

Every piece of Peter broke apart in Tony’s hands. His breath hitched, and a noise forced its way from somewhere in his chest he felt he’d never even accessed before. His pattern of rutting grew twice as sloppy and weak; he only managed two more grinds before the shaking took away his ability to continue riding out his orgasm. Mr. Stark’s hands held him flush against his side by his hips, even as another layer of sperm coated the front of his boxers. Mr. Stark didn’t seem to mind the wetness, gasping for breath as if he’d been the one to cum. Peter collapsed into Mr. Stark’s scent, into him, as he reveled in the relief he was finally able to find. 

 

Peter wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, but he was falling asleep by the time he felt Mr. Stark move, blearily rolling around to reality. 

 

Tony’s hands peeled from his hips, and reached around to gently roll Peter onto his back. He groaned softly at the loss of his warmth, but it did nothing to bring him closer. His mentor was tucking the blankets up around his body a second later. 

 

“You can rest here.” Tony spoke low, his voice cushiony against the harsh noises of Manhattan outside the tower. “I’ll check on you later.” 

 

“Mr. Stark.” Peter blinked, trying to keep his eyes open, but ultimately lost the fight against exhaustion as they fluttered shut again. “Don’t go.” 

 

Mr. Stark didn’t leave right away. Maybe he contemplated Peter’s request. Maybe he’d already regretted his decision to let Peter use him to find release. After a moment of silence, however, his fingers tugged through the matted curls on Peter’s head, and then his presence was gone from the bed. “Sleep.” He said, an order this time, and disappeared from the bedroom as the door slid shut behind him. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6 months later, I finally got part 2 out! haha oops  
> Sorry for the delay. I had this started back in June but school hit and university requires much more studying than before plus work and all lol  
> This is the last chapter of this story I'll be adding I believe, so I can focus on my other omegaverse story. Thank you for the sweet comments and kudos I've gotten from this! I love the Starker Ao3 fandom!

__Peter__

 

Equipped with powers that had changed practically every aspect of his bodily functions and characteristics, Peter’s heats had always been pretty brutal. 

 

Most omegas presented when they were 15 or 16, making sophomore year the most stressful of a beta’s life as they waited for a life sentence of heats and reproduction. Peter’s had been taxing for other reasons; he’d come into his identity as Spider-Man, fought Captain America hand-to-hand, and gotten his crush’s father jailed before he’d finished puberty. Admittedly, he was more than relieved when he made it to 17 without a single sign that he was anything other than a beta, and had forgotten the ordeal altogether. 

 

Then freshman year of college, just after Mr. Stark had went  _ vamoose _ on an indefinite vacation to Florida, Peter’s life fell into utter chaos when he collapsed with a fever during a lecture. 

  
  


Peter let out a stuttered, exhausted breath as he rolled over in bed, his back flattening out against the sheets. There was an ache, low and heavy, that had spread throughout his entire body, until even his bones felt like they were throbbing. His eyelids fluttered open, golden light swimming into view. Bemusement weighed on his stomach, tiredly unaware of where he’d woken up. It only took a second for him to remember, for images of Mr. Stark gazing at him through startled eyes to come flooding back, and he was jerking to sit up straight as his cheeks glazed crimson. 

 

“Oh  _ shit.” _ Peter mouthed, staring into the abyss of Manhattan’s city lights glittering the streets 1,000 feet below. It was night now, probably late into it. He must have been asleep at least 8 hours. Maybe longer. He was still in his boxers, stiff with a plethora of fluids and sticking uncomfortably to his crotch. Otherwise, he was undressed, in the same state Mr. Stark had left him. 

 

_ “Mr. Stark. Don’t go.”  _

 

Peter had begged him to stay despite all he had seen. He remembered, in his heat-muddled head, he’d been convinced that he might actually die if Mr Stark abandoned him. Of course he survived, but the memory of watching him walk away made his stomach flip. 

 

He needed to go home. Things had gone very bad very fast. 

 

Glancing down the expanse of the king bed- no, it had to be bigger; Everything about Mr Stark was bigger than life - he found clothing that didn’t belong to Peter laid out neatly on the duvet. Doubt hung in Peter’s movements as he crawled to investigate. There was no note, and no indication they were  _ for  _ him, but he also didn’t quite recall them being there when he’d stumbled into his bedroom earlier in the day. After stretching out kinks in his spine to stall the conversation he’d certainly have to have when he left the bedroom, he tugged on the t-shirt that was unfairly silky and soft and the sweatpants Peter could have sworn he’d seen Mr Stark wear in the past. 

 

Peter’s bare feet padded along the hardwood as he navigated the hallways he was quite familiar with after years of spending time with Mr Stark. The high windows gave view to beautiful images of New York Peter spent hours gazing at in the past, though presently he kept his eyes forward as he tried to devise a strategy for  _ the talk _ . He could apologize. Insist it was a misunderstanding, and that anything he had said couldn’t be held as truth because he was drunk on hormones and lust. He could smother his infatuation like he had for half a decade and avoid discomfort, because discomfort and change scared Mr Stark and that was why he’d run away from Pepper, from the Avengers, from  _ him _ in the first place. 

 

Or, he could lean into the memory of the feeling of Mr Stark’s hard-on nestled into his abdomen while Peter had rubbed up against him, and lay bare all of the impure thoughts he’d had about his mentor since he was much younger. 

 

When Peter rounded on the kitchen, and his eyes settled on Mr Stark nursing a mug of coffee and relaxing attractively against the breakfast bar, all thought of ‘strategy’ thawed from his mind. 

 

Mr Stark heard him approach, just as his steps died down at the entrance of the kitchen. His gaze flickered up from his coffee cup to settle on Peter’s face, and his eyes traveled down for just a moment before snapping back in another direction. Away from Peter. 

 

They were both still, both anticipating the other to speak. Finally, maybe due to the responsibility he always felt he had as the older of the pair, Mr Stark cleared his throat. 

 

“I didn’t want to wake you.” Mr Stark set his mug down, and Peter could see it had barely been touched. “I know heats are a toll on health.” 

 

“Yeah.” Peter stared at Mr Stark, his jaw slack. He wasn’t sure what to say. They were alone; he could scream his confession of attraction as loud as he wished and no one but Mr Stark would ever hear. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to say a single word of what he really thought. “They’re...yeah. Tiring. Thanks.” 

 

“It wasn’t a big deal.” Mr Stark dismissed, and he still wasn’t looking at Peter. 

 

“Mr. Stark?” 

 

Mr Stark didn’t move to acknowledge him. “Yes?” 

 

“It’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time.” Peter’s throat constricted. “You never said anything before you left.” 

 

Mr Stark nodded, though there was hesitancy to the action that made it seem as if he was…

 

Guilty? 

 

“I know. And, fuck, Peter, I know I should have. There are quite a few things I should have done differently. It wasn’t fair for me to leave you alone to figure the hero-ing gig out on your own.” Finally, Mr Stark turned to look at him. His eyes were heavy, and there were bags under them. He looked older, but it worked for him. Maybe made him just a bit more attractive. “It seems that quite a bit happened in my absence.” 

 

The pointed look Mr Stark gave him had Peter’s ears heating up again. There was too much to explain in the half-hour or so he had before he hit another wave. “I- um - I’m living at the Avengers compound now between school. Steve, he invited me to move in a little over a year ago. “ 

 

“And he knows?” 

 

“Huh?” 

 

“That you’re an omega.” 

 

Being referred to as such felt like a punch in the gut, and Peter’s breath pitched. “...yup.” 

 

“Jesus Christ.” Mr Stark ran a hand through his hair. It looked messy and its style was haggard, as if he’d been tugging on it for hours. “I’m assuming you presented late. Your school records said you were a beta when I reached out to you - You were, weren’t you?” 

 

“I didn’t get my first… I didn’t know until I was almost 19.” Peter explained. “You had already left by then. It took some adjusting, and I had to figure out how to work patrols and missions around it, but I’ve gotten into the pattern of it ...mostly. I think my powers make it irregular and that’s why...that’s why today I wasn’t expecting it.” 

 

“You could have been out on the streets. You could have been in danger, kid.” Mr Stark stressed the nickname, and Peter would be lying if he said it didn’t feel off-putting. “If I had known back then you were an omega, I’d have never brought you into the Avengers. People could use it against you.” 

 

Peter squared his shoulders, his body language tense and defensive. “It doesn’t make me weak.” 

 

“I know. Shit, you could throw me across the block or snap me in half if you really wanted to.” Mr Stark chuckled uneasily. “You’re not weak, but that doesn’t make it a strength. I don’t think the work the Avengers does and the people we-  _ they _ face are a good match to that vulnerability.” 

 

“To be honest, Mr Stark, I’m not sure that’s really your call anymore.” Peter didn’t intend to sound snide, but even Mr Stark locking up didn’t make him regret saying it. He was still awfully hurt over his mentor’s disappearance, and it stung that he thought he could march back into his life and pass judgements. Peter had been more than thrilled to recount to Mr Stark his adventures with the team. He had waited all week to tell him about his placement as a permanent member. It seemed Mr Stark didn’t hold the same sentiment about it. 

 

After an agonizing minute, Mr Stark lifted his mug to march to the sink, turning his back to Peter. “That’s true.” He muttered, and put an end to the topic altogether. 

 

__Tony__

 

The mug had been soaped up thrice by the time Tony determined he’d been avoiding the gaping kid behind him long enough. 

 

Why hadn’t he walked out of the bedroom? Why had he stayed? Why had he helped him finish, even if all he’d been was a warm body for him to rut against? 

 

Shame was prevalent in every inch of Tony, especially because he could smell Peter. He knew, by the strong scent drifting off of his neck, that he would hit another wave soon. He could smell that mixture of need and submissiveness that was enough to drive any alpha insane. If it got any stronger, or anything close to what it had been earlier in the day, Tony wasn’t sure shock would be enough to quell that awful side of him he aimed to keep repressed. 

 

“I need to apologize, Peter.” Tony turned to face the kid in question; to face his wide-eyed gaze that made him look so curious and good. Too good to be standing in Tony’s kitchen, dressed in his clothing and hugging himself like it would protect him from Tony’s words. “I shouldn’t have-...what I did earlier was inappropriate. You weren’t coherent, and I feel that I took advantage of the situation.” 

 

“You didn’t do anything.” Peter’s eyebrows knit, and a sort of odd frustration edged into his voice. 

 

“I held you. Let you use my scent. I can’t justify that.” 

 

“There’s a lot worse things you could have done to me. Things I would have let you done.” 

 

Tony’s dick twitched in his boxers, and he took a staggering step back. “Kid-” 

 

“Things I would still let you do, Mr Stark.” 

 

Tony had wrapped up his desire for Peter and locked it away in a safe years ago, but he could see that this wasn’t the teenager he’d met in that small Queens apartment. Despite the fact that Peter wasn’t a kid any longer, Tony was still 30 years his senior. 

 

Tony could smell the source of his boldness. The sweetness hit him at once, as if it had started building at a rapid pace. When Tony studied Peter’s eyes, he could see they were heavy-lidded and his bottom lip was quivering, at least until Peter trapped it between his teeth. Peter was trying not to let it show, but it was clear he had noticed his symptoms as well. He couldn’t sit still, and he was quietly shifting between feet. 

 

“Do you have somewhere nearby that you usually spend this? I’m sure I could get you there within 10 minutes. If Happy’s not awake, I can drive you myself.” Tony chose to breathe through his mouth instead of his nose, making his inhalations much louder. 

 

“At home. At the complex.” Peter answered quietly, looking just a bit dazed. 

 

“Alone? Shit, kid.” The idea of Peter lying in bed the way he had been when Tony found him, suffering through that agony for hours, made something deep in Tony disgruntled. He wasn't sure Peter would have found relief if he hadn't been there. Maybe he'd have passed out first. Tony stepped towards Peter, placing a gentle, guiding hand on his forearm. “Let’s get back there before it gets too awful, then.” 

 

Peter didn't make a move to leave. Instead, Tony could feel goosebumps rising on his skin, and it felt warm to the touch. Hotter than normal. Tony had helped a dozen omegas through heat in the past, but he had never touched any that felt as feverish as Peter did now. It made him shiver. 

 

“Mr Stark?” 

 

The pitch of Peter’s voice had changed. Just slightly, but enough that it had Tony’s hairs prickling on his arms and neck. 

 

“Will you help me through it, at least for today? I- ow.” Peter took a dizzy step away, making Tony's hand fall off. He clutched his stomach, and Tony could see the shakiness of his knees. “Please, Mr. Stark.”

 

“Peter-” Tony wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve this, but every inch of moral sense he had left was pleading with him not to make the bad choice. “You can’t stay here with me.” 

 

The words left a heaviness hanging in the air, and Tony watched with sharp eyes as Peter’s shoulders dropped and a hurt look crossed his face.  _ Rejection _ was written across his skin, and the look of despair didn’t suit him one bit. 

 

“I-I’m sorry, sir.” Peter spoke in a small, weak voice, his breathing already growing shallower. “I shouldn’t have stayed when things got bad. I should have called Steve to come get me. I just wanted to...I just  _ thought… _ ” 

 

The idea of Steve laying a hand on Peter, even if helping him, made something resentful in Tony stir. 

 

“It’s not that I don’t want you here.” Tony’s  compunctious gaze ran over the quivering of Peter’s hands, and traced over his thighs, before returning to his face. He seemed perplexed, watching each movement of Tony’s as if he couldn’t quite figure out the intent behind it. “The thought of you going through this alone- or doing those things to yourself  _ alone- _ ” Tony’s voice grew gravely. “I’d rather have you here, where I can keep you clean and fed and sane. But not with  _ me.  _ I don’t trust myself to do the right thing.” 

 

“I’m an adult.” Peter blurted, and the hurriedness to his words just made him seem all the younger. “I-I mean, Mr. Stark, I’m legal. I can drink, or get helped by any alpha I want.” His cheeks had grown darker in shade as they spoke, and the flush had spread across his exposed skin. His scent was also unbearably strong, and it was a wonder he could still speak though he looked so dazed. “And I’m gonna go insane if you don’t...i-If you just watch again.” 

 

“God, Pete, don’t-” 

 

“You c-can say no.” Peter’s right knee seemed to buckle, and with a pitiful noise he slipped to kneel on the tile. “But i-it really hurts.” 

 

Something raw and primal within Tony snapped, a fragile string ripping in two from the tension, and with a dissociative-like mental state he was immediately at Peter’s side. Fingers danced delicately up his trembling arms and then grabbed possessively, dragging him to his feet. When it was clear Peter could not stand Tony tugged him into his grasp, hauling him against his chest. 

 

Sugar cookie burned strongly from Peter’s neck and this time Tony found himself unable to repress his urge. He buried his nose into the crook of Peter’s shoulder and inhaled, a euphoric high dizzying him. Peter made a soft whimper, muted against Tony’s shoulder, but to Tony it was a symphony of the angels. Tony could never hurt Peter, at least, not in very many ways, but he still felt brittle and soft as he succumbed to his heat. Tony had never dreamed he’d be in this situation, able to touch Peter in so many ways- so many  _ places- _ but it felt as if time had set them up for this very moment from the creation of the Earth and he couldn’t think of another place he’d rather be than cradling the omega. 

 

Cradling  _ Peter. _

 

Tony sobered himself up off of the omega and cleared his head with fresh air, planning his next moves. They couldn’t stay in the front room. Peter may have told Steve where he was going to be, and if the righteous hero hadn’t heard back from him this long, the chances of him coming to find the boy were high. His fingers tugged on brown curls and Peter bat his pretty little lashes up at Tony, eyes reddened with desire and likely genuine pain. “Pete.” His voice was low and growly, much more scratchy than normal. “Pete, I’m taking you back to my bedroom.” 

 

“Oka-” 

 

“And if you so much as  _ think  _ you might not want my hands on you,” Tony cut him off, before he himself lost his sense of logic. “If you even feel slightly unsure, or afraid, that you don’t want me that way, tell me, or tap my arm twice, or break my femur. You still have complete access to FRIDAY. Whatever you have to do to protect yourself, I won’t be upset at you.” 

 

“Mr Stark,” Peter laughed through heavy breaths, his cheeks pink and his small smile as divine as ever, still at least a bit himself. “ I said _okay_.” 

 

__Peter__ 

 

Peter didn’t have the most accurate sense of time as he floated in and out of perfect consciousness, but he was aware of when Mr Stark started to carry him back towards the bedroom dimly lit and just a tad chilled, and when he was set down on the pillowy mattress that he felt he was sinking into. The scent of Mr. Stark surrounded him now, drowned him among the pillows, blankets, and the clothes adorning his sweaty skin, and he let his eyes close tightly when a particularly sharp cramp contracted his entire abdomen. 

 

Rough calluses brushed over his cheek, travelling down over his jaw, and finally drug his chin up. Peter gazed headily up towards Mr. Stark, meeting his concerned gaze. 

 

“Are you okay?” Mr Stark sounded like God, or at least what Peter imagined Him to sound like. Heavy, benevolent, and omnipresent. His voice simultaneously soothed and overloaded all of Peter’s senses. “You look sick.” 

 

“I’m o-overheating.” Peter admitted, somehow able to speak despite his own words not quite reaching his brain. He was responding entirely by instinct. “And I can feel my h-heartbeat everywhere.” 

 

Mr. Stark’s gaze settled in understanding that Peter was certainly not okay, and he pulled his hands from Peter’s face. Peter felt a light tugging on his waistband and then his pelvis and legs were free. He’d taken off his boxers before changing, and the sound Mr Stark made upon realizing this had Peter’s heart thumping hard against his chest. The alpha’s scent kicked up in intensity and Peter was sure he could cum from a single touch. 

 

When he had him undressed, Mr Stark hiked Peter’s legs up so that his feet pressed against the duvet, the material tickling his soles. Air rushed down against the parts of him throbbing with warmth and he whimpered, feeling slick slip down the curve of his ass. 

 

“Oh fuck, Peter,” Mr Stark grabbed against his muscled thighs like a life boat, squeezing. “Holy  _ shit _ please tell me you’re not a virgin.” 

 

Peter’s heart fluttered and he managed to shake his head through the fuzz. “N-No, b-but that doesn’t matter, Mr. Stark.” He whispered. “I would have-” 

 

“Don’t tell me you’d give that to me. I’m  _ begging _ you not to put that thought in my head.” Mr Stark’s finger brushed through the hot liquid pooling around his quivering entrance, dragging another pathetic noise from Peter’s throat. “You’ll tell me if- if you want to stop?” 

 

“Yes, sir,  _ yes.  _ But I don’t now, so just s-stop saying it.” Peter pleaded. 

 

“MIT never taught me how to deal with this. So we’re going all in.” Mr Stark quipped, somehow, at Peter’s expense as he laid there all the longer in agony. “Dad might have, but when...when did I ever pay attention to what he said?” 

 

Pure light arched through Peter’s eyes as Mr Stark pressed in one finger, curled it, and rubbed just near the place that made pleasure course through Peter unfiltered. 

 

Peter made a sound higher than he’d ever elicited from his own working hands, needy and sharp enough to make Mr Stark falter. When Peter blinked back bleary, pained tears enough to search for his ex-mentors face, he found him gazing down with slight shock. 

 

Then, after only a short beat, he rubbed his fingertips in and out of him to draw more delicious pleasure from his heat-riddled body. 

 

Peter gasped and writhed, out of control of his own reactions. He heard Mr Stark shift and chuckle darkly above him, sensitive hearing picking up on the ragged edge to his breaths. 

 

“I can’t keep my cool if you insist on sounding like  _ that. _ ” Mr Stark edged his forefinger alongside in, but Peter felt no sting. His body ached for more than this. He  _ needed _ much more than this. “Fuck, Pete, you’re everything.” 

 

_ Everything.  _ Oh shit. 

 

“M-Mr Stark, I’m okay. I-I’m ready.” Peter pushed his hips down against Mr Stark’s fingers more insistently, to prove his point. “I can’t wait anymore.” 

 

“Pete-” 

 

“Sir,  _ please. _ ” 

 

Mr Stark stirred and pulled his fingers free, leaving Peter uncomfortably empty. He parted his legs more insistently, a reminder to the billionaire that he physically couldn’t be left alone lest he go absolutely insane, and a whine drug from his chest. He heard Mr Stark faintly undressing nearby but the fogginess hanging heavy in his mind prevented him from fully grasping the situation. He was falling hard into heat insanity, and all he could focus on was the discomfort plaguing his body. 

 

And then, Oh God,  _ then _ he felt it; a throbbing, hot muscle pushing at the rims of his body, testing the tightness and the give. Peter felt he was made to exist in this moment, to be taken by Mr Stark on a multi-thousand dollar bed in a million dollar penthouse, and when he breathed out in anticipation, firm hands grasped his hips to still him against the mattress the best they could. 

 

“Pete. Peter.” Mr Stark’s hot breath hovered over his ear, hotter than the fever bubbling under his skin. “You still want this?” 

 

Peter nodded, faintly. He wanted it, so badly he could cry. 

 

“I need words, kid.” 

 

“I-I want it. I want you to f-fuck me, Tony.” Peter’s lips moved on their own accord but he couldn’t see straight enough to even formulate something less desperate and more intelligible. 

 

“You drive me fucking insane.” Mr Stark’s teeth scraped over the sensitive skin above Peter’s scent glands and his lips fell open in a silent scream of sensation. “You know that, don’t you?” 

 

Pete didn’t know it, but it didn’t matter much, because Mr Stark fit himself in, inch by excruciating inch, and Peter’s mind completely melted away from him. 

 

Mr Stark gave him but a second to catch his breath. His grinds were gentle at first, but once the alpha got a taste for him he was just as unable to restrain himself. His hands tightened on Peter’s waist and he started to push hard against his midsection, keeping him anchored into the mattress. Peter had rocked back against him to feel more, to feel him deeper, and Mr Stark let out a grunt to quell him. 

 

“I-Is this okay?” Mr Stark licked the sweat off Peter’s neck and up behind his ear. He puffed out with great effort, a rigid tone to his voice. “Are you hurting?” 

 

“Keep going.” Peter gasped, the fullness enough to make him feel that he wasn’t about to implode on himself while not qutie sating him. “Mr Stark,  _ more. _ ” 

 

His mentor puffed out an amused laugh and slightly lessened his hold on Peter’s hips. “Let’s see how much of this you regret saying when it’s over.” He murmured, and drew back before pounding right back into him and drawing a squeak from the sweet pressure. 

 

Mr Stark thrusted hard, and his strength built as he let go of his resolve. Peter’s eyes screwed shut and he focused on the utter sensation plaguing him. Their skin rubbed against thighs, his stomach, hands grabbed at his ass or his waist or whever they could find purchase. Peter’s lips spread in an  _ o _ as his stomach curled, Mr Stark’s length hitting spots within Peter he wasn’t even sure existed. 

 

“O-Oh God-!” Peter’s head tipped back and his back arched, throwing Mr Stark off his rythm for a moment. The spark of ecstasy had become a full flame, and Peter knew he was on the verge of climax. He couldn’t last long. Not knowing it was Mr Stark inside of him. 

 

“Mmph, fuck, Peter. That’s it.” Mr Stark bit the shell of his ear, and fingers tangled and tugged at his hair, pinning him against the bed. 

 

“M-Mr Stark-” 

 

“You can do it.” Mr Stark whispered harshly against his skin, hips pounding bruisingly against Peter’s ass. “You’re so beautiful,  _ omega. _ ” 

 

At the growled nickname, Peter broke open under Mr Stark with a startled choke. 

 

His vision flashed red and then black as he buried his face in Mr Stark’s shoulder, whimpers and incoherently pleads for  _ something _ tearing out from his throat. Mr Stark shoved himself unceremoniously into Peter once, twice, and then drew out entirely. His momentum rocked Peter and he realized Mr Stark was finishing himself onto his stomach, fingers running over Mr Stark’s wet erection until he painted  white over Peter’s abdomen. Peter mewled with heavy breaths, desiring nothing more than his knot swelling inside of him and filling him to the brim, but Mr Stark likely wouldn’t even hear it. 

 

Jelly limbed and heavy with post-orgasm haze, Peter collapsed back against the bed, feeling miles better than he had when he’d simply rut himself to finish against Mr Stark’s leg. 

 

Peter’s eyes slipped closed and he listened, slipping between consciousness levels. Mr Stark kneed off the bed and disappeared for a few moments, reawakening Peter when he started to wipe him down with a damp cloth. Careful hands cleaned off his abdomen and then traveled up the span of his legs, dragging slightly dried slick into the towel. The second time he was aware Mr Stark was beside him was when he felt himself being dragged up to the pillows, and his eyes gingerly cracked open. 

 

“Mr Stark-” 

 

“Ssh, ssh.” He was quieted with a gentle pat on his shoulder, impersonal and off putting, before the alpha tucked a blanket up around Peter’s chest and arms. “You’ll only exhaust what energy you have left. Sleep.” 

 

“Will you leave?” Peter asked, wincing at the vulnerability in his voice. 

 

Mr Stark paused, gaze flickering elsewhere other than Peter’s pleading eyes. “I’ll be around when you wake up.” He promised. And just as before, he flicked the lights off in the bedroom and left Peter alone to ponder on what they’d just done, and why Mr Stark always seemed to find reasons to run from him. 

  
  
  



End file.
